


The Deceitful Hero

by sadlynotpeculiar



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlynotpeculiar/pseuds/sadlynotpeculiar
Summary: "You think you're so strong.""We are.""Fly, Astrid. Check again.""That won't change anything. Berk is what it has always has been. Always will be.""You're right. You will always be small and insignificant."Don't you dare—""Fly, Astrid, and you'll see."





	The Deceitful Hero

**Author's Note:**

> This has been posted on ffnet a month before (maybe more) under the same username. I've changed the title, a few dialogues, but yes, I'm still the same person who posted this first.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own HTTYD.

Bjorn let loose a wide, long yawn.

He lied down on the floor next to the railing of his fishing boat, stretching. He removed his boots and let the wind hit his feet. It was cold, even more so than usual. It was a sign that winter was near. In a few days or so, snow will start raining down on them. He rolled up his breeches to feel more of the air. The cold did nothing to wake him up.

His younger brother, Magnus, who was leaning on the mast, rolled his eyes at him. "It's broad daylight, brother."

"I noticed."

"So why are you so sleepy?"

He grinned at him. "Funny story, actually. I bedded Siv last night."

Magnus sneered. He always did when Bjorn had done something not to his taste. "The innkeeper's daughter?"

"That's the one."

"I heard her mother was selling her maidenhood for a gold piece, another two for her hand in marriage," Magnus said. "Is that what you were saving up for?"

He laughed. Siv was pretty to look at—cute face, small breasts, and lean hips. Might be worth a few pieces of silver, perhaps a chicken or two as well, but gold? There were others more worth his time. And money.

"I bedded her for free," Bjorn said smugly.

Magnus raised a brow at him. "For free?" he said skeptically. "Her father will have your head when he finds out."

" _If_  he finds out."

"How did you even do it anyway? Half the youth in the village had their eyes on her. They follow her everywhere. It's hard to find time to be alone with her."

"I chanced upon her on my way to the inn," he said, smiling at the memory. "She was swaying on her feet, drunk on mead. I offered to carry her back, and she agreed."

"Bastard," Magnus muttered.

He grinned even wider, ignoring the insult. "Her parents weren't home. Before I knew it, she had me pressed against the wall. Who am I to reject her... advances?"

" _Drunk_  advances," Magnus corrected. "How come nobody caught you?" he said. Bjorn didn't fail to catch the disappointment in his voice.

He shrugged noncommittally. "Might be her father was drunk on mead as well last night. Might be her mother decided to do their own deed in their own inn soon after. Might be Freyja just decided to grant me luck. Might be all of those. You never know."

"His father  _was_  drunk. I caught a glimpse of him last night," Magnus confirmed. "What happened then? I imagine Siv wasn't happy with you laid next to her, both of you naked."

He laughed again, much louder this time. "I never knew. I was gone before dawn, right after I finished pounding her."

"She might remember you still," Magnus pointed out.

"Perhaps. But she won't tell."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Her family would be ashamed of her. They'll kick her out, no doubt. No one else will take her in, what with her already been used," Bjorn said matter-of-factly.

"You disgust me," Magnus said in contempt. He stood up and walked to the railing where the net was.

Bjorn shrugged. "Enjoy your life, brother. This is the way I know how."

"I'd enjoy my life more if you helped me hoist this net," Magnus said, grunting as he tried pulling up the fishing net.

"I'd rather push you off this boat. Now, let me sleep. Siv didn’t let me get a wink of it last night."

For a moment, he had silence. But, like all younger brothers tend to do, Magnus broke it.

"Father wants to take in a new wife."

Bjorn bolted up, his long awaited sleep forgotten. " _What_?" he hissed at him. "Not this again. I told you to stop filling his head with stuff involving marriage."

"I'm not by our father's side day and night," Magnus said simply.

He groaned. This was no time to take wives. They had more than enough trouble keeping themselves fed. "Who is this unlucky woman he has his eyes on?"

"A new server at the inn," Magnus answered. "This one well above her forties. I know they usually take in only those in their youth, but the woman was still fair to look at. I think half the men in the inn had their eyes on her, even a few of the young ones."

He snorted. Most of the women in their village that were above forty looked like old hags or worse. "I take it she's from another village?"

Magnus nodded, confirming his thoughts. He tried hoisting up the net again, but his hands slipped and the net fell again. He sat down, defeated.

"Which one?" Bjorn asked with genuine curiosity. A forty year-old woman that was still eye-catching? Her village might be worth a visit someday, just to see if the women there were the same as her.

"She didn't say. She was vague about it."

That struck Bjorn as suspicious. "Did she now? What do you think?"

"It's not my place to make assumptions on her life," Magnus said flatly. "Her past is hers to keep."

"Lay off on your morals for a bit. This woman could be an Outcast spy for all we know," Bjorn said evenly.

Magnus snorted. "I doubt it. Some of the men say they saw her walking alongside Chief Mogadon. Do you really think that the chief will let someone he thinks is a spy close to him?"

Bjorn paused. "Fine," he conceded. Their chief was no fool, despite his short temper. "What does she look like?"

Magnus close his eyes and cupped his chin. "Auburn haired, eyes greener than grass, and a kind smile that leaves you wanting for more."

Bjorn cackled. "Sounds like a dream."

"I also doubt she's one to get drunk at night, letting vile men defile her as they pleased," Magnus said, looking at him pointedly.

Bjorn glared at him, but made no more reaction than that. The jab had stung him a bit though. "Anything else?"

"The children in the village love her," Magnus continued. "They say that she gave toys to every child she went past.”

"Quite an entrance, then."

"Ah," Magnus piped up. "There was one more thing!"

"What is it?"

"She carried a leather pouch on her side, filled with dragon scales!"

"Which dragon?" Bjorn asked eagerly. Dragon scales were valuable, depending on the species.

"She gave me one last night, in exchange for the latest gossips in the village. It was a Stormcutter's, if I remember it right," he exclaimed joyfully.

Bjorn gaped at his brother. "Do you still have it?"

"I left it underneath my pillow last night," Magnus muttered, embarrassed. "Gran said it brought luck, remember?"

"What are you, a man-child?" he said in annoyance. They were well past their twenties right now, yet he was the only one who seemed to have grown as a man both physically and mentally.

"I have morals, at the very least."

"Your morals don't put food on the table, neither would it give me the same pleasure I had last night with Siv," Bjorn said, proudly in the case of the latter.

Magnus wrinkled his nose and scooted farther away from him, as if his being was revolting him somehow. Perhaps it really did. He didn't care.

"You and I, we're going to sell that scale tomorrow. I heard Trader Johann will dock this afternoon and stay for a few days. That scale's worth a dozen silver, maybe more if it's bigger than usual," he said. "I'm going to...  _ask_ for more from that woman," he added. It was her mistake to let someone know that she carried something so valuable in her person.

"You're not going to hurt her, are you?" Magnus asked. It was obvious that he was regretting telling him about the scale.

"Only if she does what I want."

"I'll take that as a yes."

He drew a small knife from its sheath in his thigh. He twirled it expertly around his hand. "And you're not going to speak of this to anyone, understand?" He pointed the knife at his neck to make his point clear.

He wouldn't hurt his brother, of course. They shared the same blood—he'd rather that would not have been the case, but he had no choice in the matter. Kin should take care of each other, no matter what.

But only so far as his patience goes.

He dozed off in the floor soon after, under the shade of the railing. When he woke up, it was sunset already, and Magnus was missing. The fishing net was hanging by the mast, wet and worn out. His brother probably went and sold the fish he caught in the marketplace. He shouldn't have bothered—they'll be rich before the night ends anyway.

He stood up and stretched, then checked if the knife he had was still sharp. He ran a finger on it. When it drew blood, he nodded to himself, satisfied. He sheathed the knife again while he disembarked the boat.

_Time to meet the new server_ , he thought, his nerves tingling in anticipation.

When he reached the inn, he smoothed his hair and hid his knife in his boots. It was small enough that it didn't make much of a difference. He took a deep breath, hoping that he looked decent. It was important that he made a good first impression. He needed to be charismatic. He had done this on many occasions, and every time he always ended up with a woman, sometimes two, in bed.

Bjorn entered.

The inn was, as per usual, loud, smelly, and messy. The customers were always rowdy and left their garbage everywhere, thus the innkeepers never felt compelled to clean up. The atmosphere was always merry, and he particularly enjoyed the nights where everyone was crowded near the hearth, watching an ongoing brawl. He always took the chance to bet, even though he lost at least eight out of ten times.

He scanned the room. The usual drunkards were in their usual spot, the bard was singing dutifully near the hearth, and the innkeeper was serving drinks to the customer near the counter with his usual grumpy look. It was Siv's father, whose name he forgot.

Finally, his eyes caught a woman who was out of place. The other servers usually wore revealing clothes, often showing their midriffs even if their breasts were as big as apples. The new server wore a modest tunic that ended on her thighs, and long skirt that ended just above her ankles. Her hair was in three braids, kept secure by a red band.

She was beautiful, in a motherly sort of way.

Definitely not her type though. He refused to flirt with a woman old enough to be her mother. He went to the counter instead and bought himself a mug of mead. He took a huge gulp, wiped away the mead that got caught in his beard, and fixed the innkeeper with a playful look.

"So," he grinned, "who's the new fair..." he was about to say maiden, but it was impossible for someone that old, "... lady over there in the corner?"

"You haven't heard?" the innkeeper said gruffly. "Go ask her yourself."

"Now, now," Bjorn said, retrieving a piece of silver from his pouch and sliding it over to him. "I'm just a curious man."

The innkeeper looked at the silver. "Make that two and might be I'll think about it."

He made it three.

"Valka. That's her name," the innkeeper said, pocketing the silvers.

"Oh," he said. "What's her business here?"

The innkeeper shrugged. "Don't know, don't care."

"Even for another three?" he said, tossing another piece of silver in his hand.

He shook his head. "I really don’t know. So long as she keeps everyone happy, I wouldn’t go snooping around."

She actually was keeping everyone happy—more so than usual, that is. The woman, Valka, was chatting with the customers as she served. She laughed at their japes and they laughed at hers, whereas the other, much younger servers were only a step or two away from becoming whores. But there are advantages on acting like a whore, one of them being it earned you tips. A lot of it. This Valka evidently has no dire need for money, perhaps because of her pouch of scales.

"I see," Bjorn said, mildly disappointed. He really  _was_ quite curious of her being here. "Where does she stay?"

"That's going to cost you again."

_Of course it will_. He tossed him another three.

"Upstairs, farthest door to the right."

Bjorn drained his mug, savoring the taste of the mead in his throat. It would be his last for tonight if he were to keep a clear head later on.

He stood up, bid the innkeeper goodbye, and tried his best to look inconspicuous as he went up the stairs.

He walked to the door the innkeeper directed him at. He turned the handle and, to his great delight, found it unlocked. He hesitated for a moment—the innkeeper could've lied to him for all he knew. He shrugged the doubt off immediately. If he did, he could just get back at him later on.

He gingerly pushed the door open. Luckily, there was no one inside. The interior was like any other room for rent in the inn—a worn out bed in one corner, a bedside table, a wooden chest by the door, and a cabinet opposite of the bed.

The cabinet was big enough for him to hide in, or  _squeeze_  in if there were clothes inside. He opened it and found it empty. He marveled for a moment of the lucky streak he had been having lately. He turned to the chest, hoping that his luck will prevail again, only to find it securely locked. He could break it, of course, but that could be done later. No reason to alert the woman of his presence once she goes in.

Suddenly, he heard a pair of footsteps coming from the corridor outside. To his horror, it stopped right outside the door. Their voices were muffled, but judging on their urgent tones, they seemed to be arguing. He ran to the cabinet and closed its doors quickly but quietly as best he could.

The doors to the room were flung open just as he closed the ones on the cabinet.

"Did you see the way some people were looking at you? They were undressing you with their eyes!" a man, judging on the deep voice, said.

"Relax," a woman this time, presumably the new server, said calmly. "It's not like I don't mind—I do, really—but I don't want to start a fight over it."

"Hiccup will be angry with me after he finds out. Have you ever been in the receiving end of that?"

"He won't. I'll talk to him."

"I should've sent someone else instead."

"Well, I'm here now and there's nothing you can do about it. Let's move on to the matter at hand, shall we?"

The man groaned again. He leaned into the cabinet's doors, and for a moment Bjorn feared that it would give out and revealed him.

"What did Chief Mogadon say?"

"He refused. He still had dragons to worry about, he said."

The man cursed. "Same thing came from the Uglithugs."

"You can't blame them. I understand them, in a way. I find it hard to leave my nest alone, with all the dragon trappers around and about."

"I'm sure he'll keep an eye on it."

"I know. What about the Berserkers and Bogs?"

"Dagur's with you. The Bogs have a condition though, according to Heather."

"Let me guess: kill the queen?"

"That the gist of it, yes."

The woman scoffed. "They ask as if it's easy."

"They don't intend to lend us any help in doing it either. We're on our own."

"And the rest of the tribes?"

"Both the Lavalouts and the Hysterics kicked out the messengers he sent and declared their own small war against him. He'll deal with them soon enough. Or maybe I’ll do it. They die, either way."

The man's final statement was grim. A long silence followed.

The woman broke it. "Berk?"

"He'll go there himself."

"I doubt his father will be happy to see him."

"The feeling is mutual, I'm sure."

"What if they refuse too?"

"Then we'll deal with them the same way we'll deal with the Lavalouts and the Hysterics."

"They're his family—our family—no matter how hard he denies it. There  _must_ be another way."

"No. They're either with you, or they're against you. There is no in-between. The archipelago  _has to be united. Those who don’t like it.... They’ll never be heard from again.”_

There was silence again. Bjorn didn't understand their conversation at all, but he wanted to know more. The part where he was supposed to rob the woman of her scales was forgotten. There were other chances.

"Valka!" a loud voice came from the corridor—the innkeeper. "I'm going to need your help out there! Hurry it up!" he demanded.

He heard her groan. "He's such a slave driver."

"I told you this was a bad idea."

"I'll leave tomorrow or the next anyway, if the chief doesn't change his mind about helping us," she said. "If he still doesn't, I'll pay the Uglithugs a visit, try my luck there."

"He can just send Heather."

The woman clucked. "Let the lass have a break. More importantly, a life. You're putting her in too rough a pace."

"Are we? I'll tell him to think about it."

"Good. I should go before my boss barges in here. Be careful out there."

The door to the room opened and shut. The man didn't go with her, though. He heard him sigh heavily and slide down to the floor. The cabinet was suffocating him, but he decided against going out. He'll take him by surprise, sure, but he didn't even know who the guy outside is. He could be good at fighting for all he knew.

While he was deciding on his next course of action, a squawk suddenly came from above.

It sounded familiar—a Terrible Terror.

"Sharpshot? How did you get in?"

_He's talking to a dragon?_ Not even the most senile in the tribe weren't senile enough to do something like that.

The Terror squawked again and scratched the top of the cabinet.

"Yes, yes, I know you have a—" The man cut himself short.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_THUMP._

He gulped nervously. The Terror was banging something against the cabinet. Its head, probably. Almost as if it knew that he was  _inside._

After the Terror was done, the silence that followed stretched on for what felt like days on end. Hopefully, the man ignored the Terror. That would save him a lot of trouble.

He didn’t.

A sword pierced the door.

Belatedly, he realized it pierced his chest as well.

He tasted blood in his throat and hardly registered the next few moments. One of the cabinet’s doors slowly opened, revealing the man that he had been eavesdropping on.

"My, my," he said, shaking his head. "Vikings are _so_ rude." He pulled the sword out.

His legs gave out, and he landed face down on the floor. His vision was blurring and he knew it was futile, but he risked a look up the man. He couldn’t see it. Everything was fading.

The man knelt down and sighed. "You vex me, my good man. Valka will be cross with me, but it's not like I can just leave you alive."

"Please, I—" He couldn't finish. There was too much blood in his throat.

He put a finger on his lips. "Shh. That's enough. Don't worry. The pain will be gone soon enough."

He was right. Bjorn spent his last few moments thinking about his brother and his father, and how happy or sad they'll be now that he'll be gone. He thought about Siv, who he had defiled last night.

_It's a shame,_ he though sullenly.  _I'll be going to Hel for sure._ He always dreamed of going to Valhalla, just as his grandfather did and his father before him. There'd be no chance to redeem himself, no chance of dying with a sword in his hand.

The man—his murderer—sighed again. "How do I hide your body, I wonder?"

He closed his eyes. The taste of blood in his throat disappeared. The pain numbed.

When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted by Hel, who welcomed him with open arms.

 


End file.
